I could really use a wish right now. Who: Loki (no_name_face) and Odin (_wanderer_) What: The gods have had enough of the Trickster. The rest is just rubbing salt in the wound. Where: Bound to the rocks. When: When the Norse still ruled the world and everyone else was but specks of dust. Warnings: Violence.
It had to be the world's greatest joke. The lady got riled up running around like a headless chicken, flipping every stone making everything promise not to hurt her beloved little son. And Loki - well, Loki was trying to make a point: you could certainly delay the inevitable but you couldn't change what was destined to happen. The prettyboy had seen it, the silent prophetess had seen it - death was a beautiful thing ladies and gentlemen, and the dead ought to stay that way.
No one can change destiny. Not a mourning mother, not a grieving brother and not an enraged father - even if he happened to be the self-proclaimed king of the world.
"Doing this won't bring him back," he finally murmured, voice hoarse, licking the blood off the corner of his mouth. He was scared, yes - who wouldn't be in his position? But he'd just be a real snarky hypocrite like these so-called gods if he tried to dig his way out of this one.
The end was here, and giving up wasn't all that cowardly of a thing to do.
"Sure make you feel good, don't it? Don't be shy now - you can tell me anything," he taunted, his face inches away from Odin's, sneering through the flesh wounds and broken bones.